


A Game of Cat and Mouse

by CatOfLello



Series: The Path of Light and Shadows [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Betrayal, Love, Multi, Murder, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatOfLello/pseuds/CatOfLello
Summary: Old paths end and new ones begin.





	1. Baldric and the Griffin

Baldric stepped out into the crowded streets of Attre. It was hard to believe the city had been almost reduced to ash a decade ago during the Nilfgaard wars, or the Nordling war, depending on which side of the Yaruga one lived on. Today Attre was positively thriving, streets filled with merchants and traders from all over the North. Although, there were less now than there were before something vile had turned the trade route from Nazair into its own personal food delivery service.

The sun still could not be seen even though it was past midday, the smoke made everything hazy and dark, many walked with handkerchiefs covering their mouths and noses. With a contract in hand, Baldric bounded down the stone steps of the merchants guild building and mounted his bay mare, nudging her into a trot, wanting to get out of this city as quickly as possible. The smoke may have blocked the sun but it seems to have mixed with the smells from the cesspits making the whole city smell like a smoking dung patty. Horseshoes rang on the cobblestones as he approached a rather gruff looking merchant sitting on the bench of his cart.

‘Hey, you! You’re a witcher right?’ the merchant shouted as Baldric was about to pass. ‘Which way are you heading master?’

‘I am.’ said the witcher as he stopped his horse beside the cart piled high with, from what Baldric could smell, was salted fish. ‘South towards Nazair’

‘Through the stairs eh? Nasty business happening on that road, Nasty business. I don’t fancy heading through there on my own. Up for making some coin?’

‘I assume it would be for protection from this “nasty business”.’ the witcher tried to restrain himself from gagging, the smell of fish had never been a favourite of his.

‘Yes, it would be. I can pay you when we reach Nazair, thirty florins?’

Baldric snorted, thirty florins would not be enough to entice him to put up with the stench. ‘Fifty.’

The merchant grumbled something under his breath but not quite low enough for Baldric not to hear him. The gruff man removed his cap scratching his balding head. ‘Alright. Alright. Fifty it is. I’ll be broke as a shit peddler if this shipment doesn’t make it. Let’s get going then Master witcher.’

**************

Farther south, the sun was bright red behind the haze of smoke darkening the sky, it looked like the giant red eye of an angry God. The smoke had only grown thicker in the pass, Baldric had to rely more and more on his hearing to warn him of approaching danger. Only the sounds of the cart and the thump of the horses' hooves on the hard-packed road. The witcher began to think that whatever it was that was attacking the merchant caravans may be laying low due to the thickness of the haze. He had even seen eagles abandon their hunt due to poor visibility.

During the trek along the well-beaten cart road the merchant, Harold Risshart, had turned out to be a rather likeable fellow. The witcher and the merchant had both confessed they didn’t care for the smell of fish but apparently the price for salted cod in the South was fairly high.

From what Harold had told him, the beast of the Marnada Stairs is likely to be nesting draconid or griffin. The steep cliffs offered great protection from other predators but until recently there hadn’t been any room for anything larger than an eagle to nest there. He had been informed that there had been a rockslide earlier in the spring and the first attack occurred shortly after, a caravan filled with smoked meats had been destroyed leaving no survivors.

The merchant handed Baldric the perfumed handkerchief they had been taking turns with to block out the smell of the many casks of fish. Baldric waved it off, as he spotted what was left of a cart axle sticking out of the ground at a strange angle off in the distance. ‘Might want to hold back, I’m going to go scout up ahead.’ Baldric spurred his horse into a gallop disappearing into the haze.

Pieces of numerous carts were strewn along the edges of the road. It reminded him of the ship graveyards in Skellige, some broken to bits, a couple with barely any damage. Nothing was left of any of the cargo they once held, no doubt it was picked clean by their brother merchants after their demise. Waste not, want not.

Baldric listened and looked around, the drafts coming from the mountain steps only seemed to funnel the smoke in thicker. Soon he realized he could no longer see the merchant but before he even had turned his horse around, he heard the merchant scream followed by the neighing of frightened horses and the cracking of wood. He spurred his horse towards the noise and pulled his silver sword from its sheath slung across his back.

Smoke blocked out most of the sun, had it not, Baldric would have seen the giant shadow of a griffin closing in from behind him. It was too late by the time he heard the piercing screech, the second griffin hit him like a battering ram, knocking the wind from his lungs and crushing him between his horse and the creature's talons. He was being lifted from the ground along with his frantically kicking horse, with a desperate slash he caught the griffin between the toes with the edge of his blade. The griffin let out a piercing screech, dropping the witcher and his horse. Baldric began to fall but as he passed through the grip of the beast, one of its razor-sharp talons sliced across his chest, cutting through his leather jacket with ease. He twisted in midair and quickly made the sign of Quen before hitting the edge of the rock face with a sickening crunch. Blinding pain shot through his entire body as he rolled down to the hard ground. For the second time he was breathless and now it hurt to breathe. His black mare hit the ground a good thirty feet from him, still somehow hanging onto life before the injured griffin landed on top, effectively crushing her to death. While he was gulping for air, Baldric spotted a crevice in the rock of the cliff face through his watering eyes and began slowly dragging himself on his side towards the opening. His left arm had an extra bend in it and it seared with pain with every movement. The griffin was busying itself with his horse, stripping pieces of flesh from bone as she desperately tried to kick the griffin away. The sharp rocks from the cliffs cut his flesh and he could feel wet blood cling his shirt to his stomach and chest as he slid to the safety of the crevice in the rock face.

Baldric groaned as he pulled himself closer to the back of the small cave. that’s when he noticed the smell of rotting flesh. When his eyes adjusted to the low light he could see the decaying corpse of one attacked merchants in a sitting position to his far left. The severity of the situation had become more clear to him. He was going to die here, the last hurrah for the witcher Baldric, the former next Baron of Roggeveen. Some Koviri noblemen would sleep soundly tonight as now they could say Baldric got what was coming to him while their wives and daughters weeped. The witcher slid a small silver flask out of his pouch and drank the bitter contents, more out of habit than survival. He stared at the faceless corpse, fighting against the pain and the sleep that was trying to overtake him.

 _So, this is it, this is how it ends._  he thought. _No witcher has ever died in his own bed because destiny is a bitch and then you die in a stinking cave in a place where you’ll never be found._  

His eyelids felt heavy and he couldn’t resist sleep anymore, everything went dark.

Strange images flitted in his mind's eye, he dreamed of a woman with beautiful brown hair, he could smell her scent, a mixture of sweat and blood. Something silver flashed around her neck as she yelled to someone he couldn’t see. He couldn’t understand what she was saying but could only make out the foggy image of her face and her lips moving. He was now being dragged and loaded onto a cart, the woman pulled at the chain around his neck and said something he couldn’t hear. Everything felt so real, but he had been told that sometimes dying can bring on delirium, that’s all this was, a dream nothing more. Everything faded into black again.

**************

A bright light shone into his eyes making him wince as his pupils contracted into thin slits. Baldric wiggled his toes as he began to wake up from what felt like a long night of heavy drinking. Baldric began to realize he wasn’t dead, he was alive. Although, badly beaten and broken. White bandages tightly wrapped his chest and his left arm was now in a splint, it still hurt to breathe. The witcher peered around his surroundings, he was in a hospital, somewhere where it smelled of smoking dung patties.

To his right was a small table covered with fresh bandages, ointments and a small folded letter sealed with red wax. He reached for the letter with a weak and shaky hand, broke the seal and began to read.

_Dear bludgeoned witcher,_

_The_ _griffins have been dispatched, half for you half for me. I hid your share in your boots under your bed. I made sure the merchants guild understood the danger and that the reward should be for two griffins, not one. The honorable assholes of the guild seemed to think because you had an accident there should be no reward at all, well let's say they had their minds changed. When you are well, there is a new horse waiting for you at the city stables by the East gate. Call it craft solidarity or whatever you wish, also your care if being provided free of charge._

_Get well and better luck on the path,_

_Aleksandra_

_P.S. I also would suggest staying away from the guild office for some time._

The dream was real. This must be the same woman he had seen standing over him. He closed his eyes trying to recall exactly what she looked like, curly dark hair, yellow eyes and a silver cat’s head medallion. Baldric wasn’t quite sure which part of this story surprised him most, a woman witcher or the fact a cat went out of their way to save anyone else but themselves. He tucked the letter under his pillow, hissing in pain as the bandages pulled at the scab across his chest.

‘Good to see you’re finally with us once again.’ came a low drawling voice giving Baldric a start. A man dressed in black robes with no decoration besides a broach with a silver snake wrapped around a pole pinned to his chest.

‘I apologize for not being the most talkative company. How long have I been here?’ the witcher croaked, his voice was hoarse from not speaking for so long.

‘About three days, injuries occurred approximately a week past. I honestly did not think you would survive the first night you were in our care. Thankfully, your mutations and witcher elixirs helped keep you alive.’ the medic approached carrying glass vials and placed them on the table before placing his fingertips on Baldric’s wrist then sighed ‘I doubt I’ll ever grow used to that, you pulse is so slow it’s unnatural. I mean no offence by it. It’s just…’

‘Freaky’ Baldric found the correct word for him.

The medic cleared his throat uncomfortably ‘I was left specific instructions to give you these at intervals.’ he motioned to the vials on the table. ‘The orange three times a day and the white once a day. Tell me, can you remember your name?’

‘Baldric of Troy’ said Baldric

‘Ah yes very good... If you don’t mind my asking what is in these witcher elixirs? Maybe they could help others’

‘If your intent is to kill a person in the most excruciating way possible then they would be perfect.’ Baldric replied dryly.

The medic cleared his throat again ‘Well in that case, please take the orange then the white.’

Baldric complied, he knew what was in the vials when he lifted them to his lips, swallow and white raffard's decoctions. The bitter liquid passed his lips and he could feel fire surging through him.

The medic looked at him with shock and disgust, Baldric was painfully aware of how the elixirs affected his appearance, his skin turned ghastly white and veins popped from his skin. Not at all the handsome picture he was before. The one thing he really didn’t enjoy was the incoherent babble that always followed when he drank them. When he finally got the chance to ask the medic about the witcher woman who had brought him to the hospital, drowsiness had washed over him again.

‘Cat… cat… I’ve lost my cat... help me find my cat‘ the witcher mumbled as his eyes began to slowly close.

‘Cat’s always come home, Master witcher. Especially the troublesome ones. Rest now.’


	2. Of Cats and Cattails

The spring had been unseasonably hot and dry up until a few days ago. Rain pelted the glass windows of the stone and brick houses lining the market square in Attre, washing away the ash clinging to their window panes. Merchants huddled under colourful awnings trying to keep their wears from becoming drenched from the rainwater running over the edges. Men and women were scurrying about the streets tiptoeing around puddles, trying their best to avoid eye contact with the merchants as to not be drawn into an unwelcome sales pitch.

A tall woman walked in silent hurried footsteps down a narrow side street, dancing around rats scurrying from rubbish heaps and grated drains trying to find shelter from the storm. A large man with a long ugly scar running from his lip to his chin stepped out from an alcove, blocking the woman’s path. He slowly stepped towards her, looking her up and down.

‘Well, well. What do we have here?’ said the man, his breath reeked of onions and ale.

The woman didn’t move, glaring at him from under her brown curls. ‘Death if you’re not careful. Get out of my way.’ her voice was low and unpleasant.

The scarred man reached towards her arm with a filthy hand. The woman dodged his grasp, grabbed a board leaning against one of the stone walls and hit him square in the temple with a hollow thump. He fell like a brick face down into a deep puddle. The woman rolled his head with the toe of her boot so his nose and mouth were immersed in the filthy water then stepped over his limp body and carried on down the narrow lane towards the town hospital.

The hospital, if you could call it that, was a long stone building with moss growing on the rotting beams of the roof. It reminded Aleksandra of an abandoned farmhouse instead of a hospital. The interior was nothing but whitewashed walls and polished floors that had been scrubbed within an inch of their lives. Disinfectant permeated the air and gave her a headache every time she came to visit the wounded witcher she had brought in the week before. She had found him slumped over in a small crevice in the Marnanda steps covered in his own blood and barely clinging to life.

The witcheress removed her soaked cloak before walking the familiar route to the witcher’s bedside. She made it halfway through her daily march before being stopped by a tall thin man wearing plain black robes only adorned with a small silver brooch in the shape of a serpent coiled around a pole.

‘Ah, Mistress Aleksandra, right on schedule as usual.’ said the medic.

‘You know me Fredrik, I just can’t resist the smell of death and disinfectant’ said Aleksandra dryly.

‘Ahem. Well, your witcher is awake but under heavy sedation. If you decide to see him I’m afraid you may not be able to make much sense of what he says.’

Aleksandra nodded in understanding. She felt her stomach tighten and the sudden urge to bolt and never look back.

‘Do witchers own pets?’ asked Fredrik curiously. Aleksandra must have looked shocked because he waved his question off with a wave of his hand. ‘Of course not. Silly question to ask. He was going on about a missing cat and seemed rather distressed about it. Must just be delirium.’

‘If he is delirious then there’s no point in visiting. Did you catch his name by any chance?’

‘Baldric of Troy. Bit of a pompous name if you ask me. Um excuse me but where are you going?’

Aleksandra had already turned on her heel, thrown her wet cloak around her shoulders and was hurrying towards the exit. ‘I’ll be back in the morning’ she said shortly before slamming the heavy wooden door behind her.

*********

Reeds, cattails and bulrushes lined the banks of the Yaruga river near one of the many ferry lifts near the crossing to Dilligen. Large flat barges floated lazily across the wide river, guided by ferrymen with long wooden poles. The border crossing from Cintra to Temeria was busy, a small crowd of people impatiently queued for their turn to cross. The sounds of stomping and neighing of horses, children crying and the jangling of wares on a large cart filled with all kinds of finely crafted goods from the South could be heard from a half a mile off.

Nearby, two young boys were throwing rocks at a raven perched on a branch of a birch tree. The old bird cawed at them every time a stone whizzed passed him then study the pair with a beady black eye.

‘I wouldn’t recommend doing that boys, ravens remember faces and will go out of their way to make your life miserable’ Aleksandra said to the two brothers.

The boys looked up at the witcheress who was dressed in blue men’s clothes with two swords slung across her back sitting atop a dapple grey mare. They couldn’t make out her face from under the edge of her hood but they could see the scars on her chin and neck, surrounded by brown ringlets.

‘What would you know about ravens you old cow!’ the evidently braver brother shouted at her stomping his foot on the sandy ground, his hands balled into fists. The other brother looked as though he would rather like to shrink away disappear at any moment.

‘Even old cows know not to anger ravens, which can’t be said for you, you little brat’

The braver brother threw one of the rocks at the hooded woman. The boys’ eyes widened in astonishment as her arm moved so quickly it was a barely noticeable blur as she snapped her hand up to catch the rock. She pulled back her black hood revealing strange piercing yellow eyes and a malevolent grin.

‘Boo!’

The old raven cawed and took flight. Both of the boys jumped, making them drop their rocks and ran off towards the surging crowd by the ferry dock. The witcheress almost successfully stifled her laugh. She was sure the boys would never throw rocks at a stranger again for as long as they lived. Satisfied with this, Aleksandra nudged her horse into a walk and headed towards the bank of the river. When she couldn’t ride through the throng of people, she dismounted and led her horse closer to the river bank. She looked out across the river and was shocked to see only one ferry crossing the river at a time. A large round man wearing a sun faded cap stood near the landing for the ferry trying to appease some of the more frustrated customers. He sighed heavily when he spotted her walking towards him.

‘Please have patience good people,’ said the exacerbated owner. ‘With the river so low for so long, it’s damaged our other ferry and we’re doing the best we can with what we have.’

‘How long do we have to wait? We’ve been waiting for half the day already and my sister is expecting us-’ shouted a weary-looking mother with three small children pulling at her clothing whining about all manner of things.

‘How long is the wait going to be?’ growled Aleksandra fixing her yellow eyes on the owner. She could almost feel him begin to tremble.

‘A few hours yet,’ the crowd erupted in angry shouts. ‘But everyone will be across by nightfall!’ reassured the ferry owner.

She swore under her breath then decided to get settled in for a long wait.

Aleksandra sat down on a stump a short distance from the throng of increasingly agitated travellers as her mare happily munched on oats in her feed bag. To pass the time, the witcheress removed her hunting knife from her belt and began whittling a stick. When she was little Aiden, her mentor had taught her how to take a piece wood and turn it into something beautiful. He still carried a small clumsy carved horse she had made for him when she was young. Today, however, she was more than happy to just reduce the stick to a pile of shavings to relieve her frustration.

As she waited for her turn to cross the river she pondered if it might be quicker to just swim but she dismissed the thought once she realized it would mean another day of waterlogged boots and she had already had enough of the wet and cold the last couple of weeks. She despised waiting for such mundane things, at least with a hunt there was the tension of anticipation followed by the intoxicating release of adrenalin of the fight. This, well this was just dull. The two boys who had been throwing rocks at the old crow clung to their mother’s cloak and refused to stray too far from her. Not a soul dared to make eye contact with Aleksandra. She had learned to enjoy the silence long ago, witchers were normally asked strange and stupid questions based on fears and old wives tales. But some of the ones posed to female witchers were stranger than the norm and just plain rude.

The sound of carefully placed footsteps on dried grass approached her from behind. Aleksandra turned around to meet the hazel eyes of an auburn-haired woman with delicate facial features wearing green and tan riding clothes.

‘I see you haven’t changed a bit love’ said the woman in a warm familiar tone.

The witcheress smiled ‘Lena my dear so nice to see you. What are you doing south of the Yaruga? Have a seat, I have some vodka and dried fish stashed away if you’re interested’

Lena’s lips twisted into a beautiful smile ‘Work but some mutt got to my mark before I did. I would love some vodka, I haven’t had a good northern spirit in ages’ she settled on the grass next to Aleksandra.

Aleksandra cocked her head ‘How do you know it’s from the north?’

‘Aleks my love, you wouldn’t be caught dead drinking that disgusting,’ her voice lowered to a whisper ‘Nilfgaard shit. I believe I heard you say it’s only for cleaning wounds and making you blind’

‘I think I remember saying something of the sort… It’s been too long’

‘It has’

Aleksandra stood and walked over to her mare then after some digging around in her saddlebags, she removed a bottle of Temerian vodka and a small wrapped package of dried salmon from Attre. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she last ate and her stomach began to grumble. If there was one thing she loved in this world it was any food the sea produced. It reminded her of her life before Aiden had taken her away to become a witcher, she didn’t remember much but she remembered eating a lot of fish. She sat back down on the stump and as she handed Lena the dirty bottle, she caught Lena’s scent, a mixture of girlish sweat and horse. It may have smelled awful to anyone else but to Aleksandra, it was like an aphrodisiac. It had really been too long.

‘Are you ever going to tell me what the very important business you had to leave for on such short notice was? Or should I go on assuming you didn’t love me enough to stay with me? You hurt my feelings, well, if I had any you would have’

Aleksandra pretended she had taken too large a mouthful of food and used the time to think of a good excuse. Trouble was she didn’t have one. The “very important business” she had was a hunt with Aiden, they had planned to travel to the far north months before she had met Lena. Had she known that she would have met the bewitching bounty hunter earlier in the year she would have stayed in Novigrad. Afterwards, Aleksandra had been too afraid to show her face in the free city for months, Lena was known to have a temper that rivalled her own.

‘I can’t tell you, sensitive information and all that. You know the drill’

Lena gave her a sideways glance through narrowed eyes. It took all of the witcheress’ control not to shift in her seat or blink or twitch, any faintest nervous movement would give her away. She knew that lie, she had been the one to teach her it. Lena looked away and took a swig from the dirty bottle, Aleksandra relaxed but only slightly.

‘Fine’ said Lena shortly

‘You know you scare me when you say that because I know everything isn’t “fine”’

Lena raised an eyebrow ‘oh really? The fearless monster slayer is frightened of little old me?’ she said playfully.

‘If you fear nothing, then you’re not brave, you’re merely too foolish to be afraid’

The bounty hunter burst out laughing and just about spit vodka everywhere.

‘What? What’s so damn funny?’ asked Aleksandra

‘You! All those bits of your “wisdom” you just repeat over and over. Tell me did they beat you over the head with a copy of terrible witcherisms when you were training?’ Lena chortled then continued laughing.

Aleksandra struggled to come up with a retort but continued eating trying to ignore Lena as much as possible. Lena wiped tears from her eyes and leaned over and pushed her shoulder onto Aleksandra’s thigh then looked up at her with her large hazel eyes. Aleksandra grinned then caressed her hair with her hand, leaving behind fish bones and grease.

‘Hey what the hell?’ Lena reached up and tried to untangle the mess of bones from her hair then gave her a dirty look. ‘What was that for? You owe me a bath when we get to Dilligen. Gods that’s gross,’ she still was struggling to pull the fine bones from her long hair ‘Why?’

‘Oh stop, Lambert pissed me off once and then I hid cow patties in his bedroll. In comparison you got off light’ Lena grumbled something unintelligible and threw the few bones she had removed at Aleksandra. ‘Would you expect anything less from me?’ the witcheress chuckled ‘Don’t be cross I’ll buy you dinner and a bath. Better?’

‘Marginally, you could make it up to me another way...’ a mischievous grin crossed Lena’s lips. Aleksandra knew exactly what she wanted and was more than willing to comply with her every wish.

‘Cat and the fiddle? They have private baths there’ said Aleksandra almost too quickly

‘That sounds wonderful’ Murmured Lena

************

Later that evening long after the bath water had gone cold, Aleksandra lay exhausted with her head on Lena’s breast as Lena gently stroked her back. She missed being with her dearly and wondered what had kept her from going back to her. Lena had to be the only person who truly understood her and what she needed. Aleksandra pulled Lena by her waist closer to her basking in the warmth of her soft skin, she felt as though she could stay in this dark room with her till the end of time and nothing else mattered.

‘I love you’ murmured Aleksandra as she began to drift off into a blissful sleep.

Lena brushed away tangled locks of brown curls from Aleksandra’s face and tucked them behind her ear. ‘I love you too’ she whispered.

************

That night Aleksandra had a strange dream. A small shoddily carved horse stood next to the candle as Aiden hunched over a table with a rough wooden surface reading a notice in the dim candlelight. She could only make out the words “Honorable” “Requests witcher” and “Ellander”. Then darkness flashed and she was horrified to see him lying motionless on his back on cobblestones with an arrow protruding from his eye. Aleksandra woke with a start, nearly jumping straight out of bed.

‘Hey, hey, hey it’s ok. It was only a dream’ Lena pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. ‘You’re positively shaking what happened?’

All she could do was bury her face in Lena’s neck and sob.

She had had dreams like this before and they were usually a warning of what was to come.


End file.
